Escape to Willow Cottage

by Bella Osborne

  Carly looked through the photographs on Fergus’s phone; she especially liked all the silly selfies they had taken together. They looked happy in every photo, even the ones where they were pulling sad clown faces. Fergus looked different lying there in the hospital bed. It was like she was looking at a different person. She couldn’t explain exactly what it was, perhaps the lack of his smile or his mischievous eyes, she wasn’t sure, but there was definitely something missing from the man who lay motionless in the bed next to her.

  Carly needed something to distract her tired mind so she pressed on the music icon. She was really getting the hang of the iPhone now, having struggled to start with, and she thumbed through the playlists and albums like an expert. Something caught her eye and she scrolled back.

  ‘Fergus, you dark horse,’ she mumbled to herself. Selecting the album, she pressed Play. She put her hand on the small vibrating device she had bought to check it was pulsating on his chest and it was. Carly picked up his hand and started to sign what was playing. It took a while for her to spell it out in finger signs. ‘Mamma Mia album first song “Honey, Honey”.’

  She started to giggle. It was probably a mixture of anxiety and the ridiculous but the giggles took over. Cormac rustled his newspaper and Rosemary placed her bookmark in her current page and put her book down.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Rosemary, her laughter lines enhanced with concern.

  Carly waved a hand as she tried to control her tittering. ‘Fergus and I don’t like the same sort of music but I’ve found some Abba in his music collection and I’m force-feeding it to him.’

  ‘Do you think the vibrator works?’ asked Rosemary in all innocence. Cormac coughed and Carly started to giggle again. ‘What?’

  ‘Tha’ wee thing there is a vibrating speaker, so it is,’ said Cormac, rolling his eyes. ‘Not a vibrator!’

  ‘It’s the same thing!’ protested Rosemary.

  ‘No, no it’s not!’ said Carly through her laughter.

  ‘Eejit,’ muttered Cormac, returning his eyes to his paper.

  ‘Do you think it works?’ asked Rosemary again, still not getting the joke.

  Carly composed herself. ‘I honestly don’t know. I hope so because when he comes round it’ll be cool if he can get some pleasure from music again. He’s really missed it.’ In her head as she said the word ‘when’ another small voice said ‘if’ and Carly had to swallow hard to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t think like that, she had to stay positive.

  ‘When he was a wee lad he loved his music. I used to think he’d glued those headphones to his head,’ said Rosemary chuckling at the memory. ‘He really liked that Cheeky Girls song.’

  Cormac eyed them over the top of the paper and shook his head but a smile played on his lips. Carly was frantically pressing icons trying to work out how to download new music.

  ‘This is brilliant, Rosemary. What else did he like?’

  Carly and Rosemary hatched an eclectic playlist of the songs from Fergus’s youth. They enjoyed putting it together but when it was on its second repeat, and there was still no reaction from Fergus, the excitement of the new playlist dwindled. She watched what was starting to play on the iPhone screen and spelled it out on his hand: ‘Sound of the Underground’ by Girls Aloud.

  Without warning Fergus’s hand slowly closed around hers. Carly gasped and looked at Fergus’s face but there was no sign of any movement. Her stomach was tumbling over and she tried to quell the feeling of elation. She didn’t want to get her hopes up unnecessarily but this was a good sign. It had to be. The silent tears trickled down her cheeks and she hardly dare make his parents aware in case it broke the spell. She waved her left hand frantically and Rosemary glanced up from her book.

  The words were hard to get out. ‘He’s holding my hand,’ said Carly, her voice lost in the deep emotion as she blubbed helplessly.

  There was a moment before the sentence registered. ‘Mary, mother of God!’ exclaimed Rosemary, barging past Cormac and around to Carly’s side of the bed. Cormac followed her and they all stared at Fergus’s pale hand clasping Carly’s. Cormac wiped away a tear and put his arms around the two women. ‘He’s always liked to take his time has this one. Always liked to take his time,’ said Cormac, giving Carly’s shoulder a squeeze.

  ‘Nurse!’ called Cormac. ‘I think we have a few more vital signs that need checking out over here.’

  The nurse came over and they explained excitedly what Fergus had done. She took Fergus’s hand from Carly and Carly wanted to hit her.

  ‘Hey! Do you have to do that?’ asked Carly, rising to her feet. She wasn’t a violent person but the sensation of having the contact taken away so abruptly made something primal flare up inside her.

  ‘Calm now, she’s just doing her job,’ soothed Cormac, and he beckoned Carly to sit back down.

  The nurse didn’t look fazed; she most likely faced a lot worse on a regular basis. ‘I need to check a few things, okay?’ she asked but she was going ahead and checking them anyway. She went through the usual routine and jotted down her findings on Fergus’s notes. Carly sat back down and took Fergus’s hand in hers. She squeezed it but there was no response. She waited a moment and squeezed again.

  ‘He’s not gripping any more,’ said Carly, looking frantically from the nurse to Cormac and Rosemary.

  ‘Could have been a spasm,’ the nurse explained with a look of commiseration.

  ‘No.’ Carly shook her head. ‘No, he held my hand for maybe half a minute?’ She felt the tears start to fall afresh as she looked to Rosemary for backup and Rosemary nodded briefly.

  ‘Okay,’ said the nurse kindly. ‘Let’s hope he does it again.’

  Jack thumped on the front door of Willow Cottage. ‘Leo! Open the door!’ he shouted but there was no response. He went back to the living-room window.

  ‘Beth!’ he yelled as he repeatedly smacked his hand on the glass but there was no movement from her. She remained curled up on the sofa deathly still. A thought struck him and fear shot through his insides like his first-ever vodka shot – he might already be too late. He pulled out his phone, dialled 999 and ran to the back of the cottage to see if he could easily get in that way. Jack pulled at the stable doors and checked the windows but everything was securely locked up.

  The 999 operator answered and Jack asked for an ambulance, explained that he thought Beth was suffering from carbon monoxide poisoning and gave the address. The operator was asking questions but Jack slid the phone into his pocket. He needed to get inside and fast. He pulled off his T-shirt, wrapped it around his elbow and with a sharp jab he smashed in one of the small sections of the kitchen window. He quickly brushed away the glass fragments with the T-shirt, threw it to the floor, put his hand through and released the window catch inside.

  Jack pushed open the window, leaped onto the windowsill and was soon inside crouched on the worktop. ‘Leo!’ he hollered but there was no reply. Where was Leo? Had Beth been able to let him in? And if she hadn’t where had he gone and where was he now?

  Jack’s primary focus had to be Beth. She was the priority. If he was right about the boiler and the carbon monoxide poisoning then he was fast running out of time. His heart was pumping hard and without thinking he took in a deep breath. A spike of a headache shot through his temple. Ignoring it he jumped down onto the damp and distorted floorboards, then hurried out of the kitchen and into the living room.

  ‘Beth!’ He dropped to his knees and gently patted her cheek. There was no response. He pressed his fingers to her neck and checked her pulse. She was still alive. The sense of relief was immense although he knew she wasn’t out of the woods yet. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her to the front door. He struggled with the front-door lock with Beth in his arms because he couldn’t see what he was doing. He felt odd, like he was floating, but it was not a pleasant sensation. Jack shook his head only to find that aided the dizziness and nausea that were gripping him. He lifted Beth higher into his ar
ms and turned so he could see the lock properly. His head was pounding. He gripped the key and it turned clunkily in the lock. Jack reached for the latch but his vision was blurring and his first attempt to grab it missed so that his fingers closed around air. He reached again and this time he had hold of it tightly. He released the door and pulled it open. His head felt heavy and his knees started to give way. Jack lunged forward out of the cottage, turning as he fell so that Beth would land on top of him and be protected from the ground. He was barely aware of the impact as he landed hard on the path and everything went black around him. His last thought was Leo.

  There was something on his face and Jack pushed it away. He could feel the cold of the stone path on his bare back but there was something soft, like a pillow, under his head. He was unsure what was going on and his memory was sketchy.

  ‘Hey, you need that, pal. It’s oxygen,’ said the paramedic, putting the mask back in place. Jack opened his eyes and tried to focus; it took a few attempts. ‘I’m Clark,’ said the ordinary-looking paramedic and Jack managed to raise an eyebrow.

  ‘Yeah, I know, my parents had a sense of humour. But you’ve been the real Superman today …’

  Jack’s memory came flooding back to him. ‘Is she all right?’ he asked. His throat was dry and the words were barely a croak. He tried to lift his head and the pounding increased.

  ‘She’s on her way to hospital, she’s not conscious yet but they’re working on her. You did good, pal. You need to take some steady deep breaths for me. We’re flushing the carbon monoxide out of your system with oxygen, okay?’

  Jack did as he was told and took in a deep lungful of oxygen. He looked around him and saw another paramedic was at his side setting up a stretcher. Beyond him a police car and a fire engine were parked near the pub and a policeman was keeping rubberneckers away.

  ‘Nice steady breaths, that’s great,’ said Clark. ‘We’ll move you in a minute and get you properly checked out at hospital.’

  Jack took another deep breath and felt his body start to revive. He still had the pounding headache but his brain was starting to fire up. ‘Leo!’ he said into the mask, forcing himself upright.

  ‘Hey, you want to be lying nice and still. Whoa!’ said Clark as Jack wrenched off the mask.

  ‘Leo is missing, he’s six years old, he could be in there,’ Jack explained, breathlessly pointing towards the cottage.

  Clark tried to reattach the oxygen mask. ‘Nope, it’s all clear. We alerted the fire service and they’ve been in and checked. There’s nobody else in there.’

  ‘Then he’s missing,’ said Jack, struggling but failing to get up.

  ‘Whoa there, mister. You’re going nowhere,’ said Clark, taking hold of Jack’s bare arm and easing him back into a lying position. ‘Let the police handle it,’ he added, waving them over.

  A rather serious-looking police officer jotted down everything Jack told him. Jack passed him his mobile and guided him to the picture of Nick’s silver BMW.

  ‘This guy may not have anything to do with it but in case he does,’ said Jack. He had no idea where Nick was; he was most likely back home in London but he couldn’t take the risk. Leo was missing and Nick was the prime suspect.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The hospital corridors were busy again with visitors trooping in and out. Rosemary and Carly were waiting in the queue in the canteen. Neither of them wanted to eat anything but both knew they had to. Cormac had decided to skip lunch because he’d had a large muffin with a coffee not long ago so had sent the women off to eat together. Carly didn’t know Rosemary that well. Fergus’s parents flew over to London a few times every year but visits were fleeting and Carly often found she was there mainly as an interpreter. She didn’t mind, it was Fergus they came to see, she knew that, but it did encroach on any conversation she might have had with his parents. They hadn’t said much to each other since they had been sharing the bedside vigil – the music conversation had been the most they had interacted.

  Rosemary looked at Carly’s bowl of soup, which was rapidly going cold on the tray. ‘You still a vegetarian?’ she asked. Rosemary must have been struggling for things to talk about too.

  ‘Yep, still a veggie.’

  ‘Not much choice, is there?’ said Rosemary, poking her packet of unappealing sandwiches.

  They paid for their food and found a recently wiped-down table to unload their trays onto.

  ‘How long are you staying?’ asked Carly. ‘I’m thinking that Cormac will need to be back at work tomorrow, won’t he?’

  ‘He will. But I can’t leave Fergus.’ Rosemary shook her head as she wrestled with the sandwich carton. Carly held out her hand and Rosemary passed it over. Carly opened the carton and handed it back. ‘Thank you.’

  They ate in silence. The soup was still warm and surprisingly tasty. Carly realized that she hadn’t eaten anything substantial since she and Beth had walked through Chinatown, which now seemed such a long time ago. An incident like this put all your usual structures out of kilter; drinks and food were grabbed randomly through necessity at any time of the day or night, hours passed and time lost any meaning. Carly had a very real fear that something might happen, good or bad, when she was away from the bedside, which had become an overwhelming power that made her not want to leave. She had gone hours between toilet breaks in case something happened while she was away.

  Rosemary pushed the remains of her sandwich back into the carton. ‘Would you mind if I stayed with you when Cormac goes home?’ she asked, and Carly’s eyes shot up from her soup, a spoonful suspended en route to her mouth. ‘It’s just that I’m none too keen on staying in a hotel on my own, you see.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Carly, recovering herself. ‘It’ll be company for me too.’ What else could she say?

  ‘Now, you’re sure you don’t mind?’

  Carly’s mind flashed back to the flat. She had barely noticed anything when she had gone back to change but she knew the sofa was still a made-up sofa bed that Beth had slept on. Their bedroom was chaos; she had flung her clothes on the bed on top of the numerous outfits she had previously left there when she had been deciding what to wear to her engagement party and there was definitely no milk in the fridge. Rosemary was waiting for a response.

  ‘I don’t mind, but you might. It’s a bit of a tip because …’ She suddenly wanted to tell her about the engagement because if she didn’t tell her now when would there ever be a right opportunity? Her hand instinctively went to her pocket to check the ring was still there and it was; the shape of it under the fabric of her jeans reassured her.

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t matter. I quite like to tidy up, that’ll be something I can do to help you,’ said Rosemary, leaning across and laying her hand on Carly’s. ‘Perhaps we could have a rota so there’s always someone with Fergus.’

  Carly wrestled with her conscience. Fergus wanted to tell his parents about the engagement face to face, she knew that, but when would that be? Beth came into her mind. She knew what Beth would say. She would tell her to stop and think. And she was right, now was not the time. Any pleasure at sharing the engagement news would be short-lived because Fergus wasn’t able to celebrate with them. She’d have to wait. She turned the ring over in her pocket and left it there as she put her hand back on the table.

  When they returned to ICU Cormac pretended that he hadn’t recently woken up. Carly noticed the curtains were drawn around a nearby bed where a teenage motorcyclist had been since last night. She could hear muffled sobs from his family and feared the worst. The thought that at any moment that could be them struck her like a falling tree.

  Rosemary retook her place next to Fergus and Carly stood totally still, staring at the drawn curtains. ‘Are you all right?’ Cormac asked, looking concerned.

  ‘No. There must be more we can do. We can’t just sit here waiting for him to …’ She knew there were two ways she could end that sentence. ‘You said there was always something!’ She jabbed a fin
ger at Cormac although she knew he wasn’t the source of her frustration. They shouldn’t have to be working out where Rosemary was going to stay or how she was going to speed-tidy-up the flat so that his mother didn’t think she was the slovenly sort. They should be planning a wedding and arguing over guest lists and seating plans, not working out a rota of who was going to sit with Fergus in case he woke up or … She felt crosser than she ever had before, with the possible exception of the time when Fergus was juggling with the flat keys and managed to drop them down a drain. She wanted Fergus back and she wanted him back now.

  ‘Is there something you want to do?’ asked Cormac gently.

  ‘Yes, I want to do something! Argh!’ Carly was tired and beyond frustrated. She marched round to her side of Fergus’s bed thinking that she and Rosemary must look like a pair of statues or, worse still, gargoyles.

  She picked up the iPhone and scrolled back to the teenage Fergus playlist they had put together earlier, selected ‘The Ketchup Song’ and pressed Play. She took Fergus’s limp fingers in hers and spelled out the track for him. She squeezed his hand but he didn’t respond. She clutched it tightly and tried her best not to cry.

  Cormac was watching her closely. He walked round to her and crouched down. ‘You’re a lovely girl, Carly,’ said Cormac, his face sincere. ‘You’ve brought back the old Fergus.’ He spoke slowly and melodically while Carly stared unblinking at Fergus. ‘After the illness he wasn’t himself, he took the hearing loss hard. In shock he was, to tell the truth. Lost his job and his self-confidence. Terrible thing to watch something like that happen to your child.’ Cormac shook his head as if remembering. ‘And then you came along with your kick-up-the-bum attitude and he was determined to learn sign language so that he could talk to you.’